Small talk

Guys, this one is for you, to balance out my sisterhood post. For all of you having problems choosing a sexy Christmas present for your wife/girlfriend. Here's help.
Now go, splurge on her!

Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood

Weird place this blog is. When I first started out, rather warily as a novice, it was only to comment on Urmi’s blog. Yes, it was that specific. Because, all these years that I’ve known her (sorry can’t really give the numbers, I’m severely mathematically challenged), we’ve only verbally interacted or at most chatted. So I had no clue just how well she wrote, when she deigned to write, that is. Purpose clearly defined, I had to set up a personal blog since, madam wouldn’t allow anonymous comments on her’s.

Once into blogosphere, like a toddler in playschool, I started discovering the wonders of this world. Since I’m also seriously technically challenged, I made Urmi’s blog my centrepoint from where I could branch out to read several others, most of whom were nameless heads, some merely names and some pseudonyms. To me of course, except for Urmi, no one really mattered. I simply dropped in to read good writing, because I couldn’t write to save my not-so-blooming life. I soon realized, it wasn’t all that easily to be an objective, emotionally uninvolved, casual reader. There were people out there who seemed like they read my mind, wrote about things that affected me, made me happy and even terribly annoyed me. Hellooooo. This is the kind of emotional bonding one feels for people. Not inanimate objects like a web log, for Heaven’s sake!

Upon some introspection, I realized, there were some blogs I got badly hooked on to. And these were the ones where I found some similarity with either my life or the way I thought about certain things in life. And, much to the utter surprise of some people who claim to know me rather well, they were blogs written by women. (I did read the men, too, so stop raising your eyebrows, right now!)

It must’ve been the subconscious, which unfortunately I still don’t seem to have any control over (damned, where are my powers of wizardry?). In spite of staying away from typically soppy, bitchy and opinionated women in real life, I was being drawn to mellifluous, pellucid, vitriolic and rather conceited posts! Damn! Damn! Damn!

But they were fun. To read and to comment upon. And thank God for the comments, that I developed a kind of familiarity with some of the people I read. Dawn of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood!

M(tread softly upon), being among the first such. Again, I’ve forgotten when I first read her, but it was an instant liking for this mysterious woman, who seemed to read my mind just too spookily well. Every time I read her, it is as if I know, I realize a little bit more about myself. I don’t know why or how, but somewhere along the way, she felt a similar closeness and we bonded, like reunited old friends. Or was it like siblings? Naaaaah! (Holding hand down and telling self, “Don’t get carried away, not just yet. Long way to go.”) Ok Clarification. So M’s a doc, she knows a little bit about psychiatry (you know, must have been part of her medical course) therefore, she just knows how the mind works and writes about such things fluently. And I, the emotional fool, like many others, only am drawn towards such spontaneous outburst of emotional feelings. Right M? (Winks)

Then there’s Princess B(itch). Let’s just say she’s just too much fun to ignore. She’s too old to be my daughter, and too young to be my sister, really. But the babe has just the kind of spunk and sweetness-tinged vitriol that excites me. Oh and yes, there’s something about the bandwidth too. 440MHz, Love?

And, finally a few months back, Urmi directed me to a certain lady who shared her surname, she told me. And was it a pleasure to discover Missus Em or what? A self- proclaimed dinosaur but with the zest of a twenty-year old. Not a glitch between the heart and the head in what she writes and how she writes it. The mistress of pickles, Lali emanates a warmth that can melt the most frozen person. For me, of course, she’s now my dictionary, encyclopaedia, agony aunt, my personal therapist, friend, sibling all rolled in to one. Phew, that lady knows how to juggle her roles, alright!

I can’t really say what Urmi means to me in a paragraph or even a whole book, so I’ll desist. Suffice to say, she’s a part of my existence.

Apart from Urmi, these are people I have no qualms sharing a bit of my personal self with and vice versa. These are my much needed girlfriends who I can virtually go off on trips with, fall back on or look up to. We each have minds of our own, we agree, we disagree, we agree to disagree on issues, we whine, crib, bitch, pat each other’s backs, we sympathise and empathise with as well as choose to ignore attention seeking behavioural disorders. We have the panacea for each other’s ills and we serve as an elixir of life. And of course, we share our little secrets of a happy, healthy and long youthful life.

Small pleasures of life

It’s amazing how sometimes we’re overwhelmed by the simple pleasures of life. Like a few words of reassurance, a compliment, a look of the eyes that tells you it’s one of genuine concern, a squeeze of the hand, a kiss, a hug or even a phone call.

It’s a pity that we often overlook them in our daily grind and look for more expensive means to tackle our depression, insecurity, self doubt, self pity, and the works. And thanks to our myopic vision, the psychologists, marriage counsellors, education counsellors, and whathaveyous are having a field day out there.

Relationships and marriages are the worst sufferers. They are falling apart like nine pins because neither can take the stress at work and obviously they don’t have the patience or tolerance to hear each other out amicably once back home. The war’s given up even before it’s begun. They agree a third party intervention is essential to sort their personal matters out. And sharing confidential information with third parties always come for a price. A rather hefty one at that. But no worries, there’s enough disposable income to waste on the quirks. One’s pain and loss provides vicarious emotional and financial pleasure to another.

“Am in love” is a phrase that has been duly replaced with “Am going steady” “or am in a relationship”. Being in love, feeling the warmth of his/her presence, wallowing in love, blinded by love are all passé and one runs the risk of being branded an emotional fool. It’s all about a “workable relationship” now. Will it or won’t it work. Simple.

Move aside heart. Step in head. Don’t dream about those never-ending walks into the sunset or the cosy rain-soaked cuddle. Stay awake and just do it. (Ok , Ok, I know you do much more. Good for you!)

Don’t just plunge in and say “I love you.” Think of the kind of “investments” you need to make and the various “exit plans” you must keep handy before saying “I Do”.

Alas, why didn’t I think of these ever? Haven’t made any investments, nor do I have an exit plan. Just plunged into the deep end and swimming my way through. Is my future doomed? Or am I just being an incurable romantic?

At the risk of all those rotten tomatoes landing in my comment section, I'd still say: People, save that money, take some time off to sit down and look into each other’s eye, hold that hand, smile, hug and kiss. And, when you are miles away, just call. Priceless ways of working wonders on that mind and heart.

PS: For those of you who think I’m being extremely nyaka, go screw your happiness.